


Halogen Sunshine

by sidnihoudini



Category: Good Charlotte
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-23
Updated: 2004-11-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidnihoudini/pseuds/sidnihoudini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“My life has changed. It’s been changing for a long time though, I just never noticed at first. It started ten years ago I guess, looking back, and just snowballed the last few years. I quit my band.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halogen Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> From the archives, totally unedited. Cringe with me, friends.

“Benji, we need you on stage in five.”

I turn my head towards the door of my dressing room and nod, lips set in a straight line as I try not to look at myself in the mirror. The stage girl smiles at me, bright red lips stretching from ear to ear it seems, before she bustles off down the hallway, calling more commands at random.

I sigh and lean back in my chair, lifting my feet up to rest on the makeup counter. I hear someone come into the room behind me, but I don’t bother looking to see who it is.

Instead I drop my feet from the counter and lean forward, hand reaching to the mirror. There’s a picture wedged into the frame, wilted at the edges and sun bleached in some areas. There are only so many times a picture can take cross country trips and have the wallet it sits in lost before it starts to show it’s wear and tears. I chew my bottom lip and hold it gently in my hand, eyes tracing over the features on the picture before a loud voice behind me jolts my whole body.

“Three minutes and counting!”

I feel someone tapping my shoulder, and when I look back, my bass player is half-smiling at me and pointing towards the door. I nod vacantly and tuck the picture into the pocket of my jeans, getting up off of the chair at the same time.

_Showtime, ready Benj?_

My stomach knots in the most uncomfortable of ways, as I look to the side to see that he’s not there. I feel the photograph burning a hole in my pocket as I hear his voice echoing through the back of my head. I’m not nineteen anymore, this isn’t what it used to be. This is completely different. 

He’s not here with you, and that’s fine. You’re fine.

_I’m kinda nervous, but that’s okay right? I mean, pre-show jitters. I hope the record label guy sees us. Do you think he’ll see us, Benj? I hope my voice doesn’t crack._

I lean against the wall and cross my arms over my stomach. People are running around me, mic-ing me up and putting ear pieces in, but it’s like I don’t see any of it. I don’t feel them touching my body, I don’t hear them asking me if the audio level is too loud. I run a hand through my hair as someone pushes the middle of my back, towards the entrance from my dressing room to backstage. I stumble forward and I feel someone lower a guitar strap around my neck before I’m guided towards stage left.

_Benji can you hear them? They’re chanting for us, that’s our name they’re chanting! Am I dreaming, Benj? Do you think that this is just a dream? I hope I never wake up._

…

I play with a loose thread on the knee of my pants as another interviewer shuffles in, juggling notebooks and tape recorders, magazines with my face splashed on the covers, and loose papers that I’m sure include some of my quotes. 

She smiles awkwardly at me, lowering herself onto the couch opposite the one I’m sitting on. I don’t do anything, just let myself pretend this is a rockstar persona playing up, instead of a scared little boy doing it all alone for the first time.

“Sorry, I’m a little unorganized. I’m from Alternative Press.” She states, setting everything down on the cushion beside her. I just nod and rest my chin in hand as she starts setting herself up, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear and crossing her legs. I sigh and my eyes go toward the window, where it’s blustery outside and typical New York winter weather. “Okay, did you want to say anything before we start?”

I shake my head and turn my attention back towards her. She’s untangling the mic cord, one hand holding the recorder in the air as the other loosens wired knots and tangled pieces. It’s obvious to see that she’s new, in that completely non-bitter way.

“Introduce yourself.” She says, a few moments later, pointing the pocket sized mic at my mouth as her hand poses over the notebook in her lap. I open my mouth and suddenly my mind goes blank.

_Excuse my dumb ass brother, I’m Joel and this is Benji…_

“Benji.” I stutter. “I’m Benji.”

She nods and doesn’t seem to notice as I smooth a hand out over the thigh of my pants, nervously crossing my legs, and then uncrossing them once more. I don’t want to look gay. I don’t want this to be about that. I want this to be about my music, and my music only.

“Alright so let’s talk about the new record first.” She says, looking up at me and leaning in a little. I swallow and press my back into the couch. “You seem to be reflecting a lot, at least more then your past projects. Does this have anything to do with the last five or six years?”

My eyes cast downward and I stare at my lap as I sigh a little, “Yeah. It does.” I shrug. I won’t lie, I spent too long doing that and it got me nowhere. “A lot of stuff has changed, you know?” I look up at her and narrow my eyes a little. “More then a lot. Everything.”

“You sound different then the Benji all the little pop punk brats used to love. What’s changed?”

I sigh and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. I stare at the floor in front of me and shrug, lips pursed together the moment before I answer. “My life has changed. It’s been changing for a long time though, I just never noticed at first. It started ten years ago I guess, looking back, and just snowballed the last few years. I quit my band.”

“You mean they fired you.”

“Yeah.” I heave a sigh, “I guess they did. Twice. The first time I was to drunk to comprehend it though.” I press my lips closed and they twist together. She doesn’t continue, so I guess that means I have to. “More then that, though. A lot of relationships ended, some that went too far for me to fix.”

“When was the last time that you spoke to your ex-band mates?”

I look up and lean back in my chair, throwing one arm over the back as she reaches with one hand to grab a notebook and flip a few pages, still holding the recorder close enough to catch my voice.

“Probably when I was in the hospital recovering. Only two of them came though.”

She glances up at me and scribbles a one or two notes in her book, before flipping a few pages and reading something quickly. “Was one of them your brother?”

I shake my head.

…

_I blink my eyes open, trying to focus in on something. Anything. All I can see is white, and it’s like the typical hospital scene that just fell out of a cheesy soap opera._

_Before I can think about anything else though, I’m shooting up bone-straight, heaving and coughing and trying to get whatever is in my stomach, out. Two nurses rush over suddenly, I guess I surprised them, and one gets a bucket from beside my bed, as the other asks me I’m alright. Like I can motherfucking talk, lady._

_“Is he okay?” I hear the anxious voice of my little brother, and I manage to roll my eyes to the side long enough to catch a fast glimpse of him. The nurse that was trying to hand me my bucket is now attempting to guide him away from the sight in front of him. I close my eyes tightly and my whole body heaves, trying to get air into my lungs before I start emptying my stomach again. Everything inside is burning and all I can taste is acid. “No, I need to see him. I don’t care!”_

_I shake my head and lurch forward again, hands grabbing at the bucket the nurse gave me as my throat retches again and my stomach knots. I don’t want him to see my like this. I can hear him fighting still, though, as he tries desperately to get to the bed I’m laying in. I need something to drink, I need some booze to calm my nerves and my stomach. My body isn’t used to this, whatever ‘this’ is._

_“I need-“ I cut myself off short again as I gag, lungs burning as I retch into the bucket again. “I need some, some…” I take a breath. “I need something to drink!”_

_“Water?” One of the nurses ask, rubbing my back gently. I feel sweat pouring off of my forehead, and down my spine. I watch and hear as Joel falls against the side of my bed, finally managing to break free from whoever was holding him back. I shake my head to try and get him to go away, not to look at me like this, because he’s crying and I can see how broken he feels inside. I shake my head at the nurse though. “What do you want?”_

_“Some, some-“ My body heaves, but nothing comes out. “Some Vodka.”_

_The nurse shakes her head, sighing a little as her hand goes from the middle of my back, to my shoulder. She squeezes it tightly, and then lets go._

_“Benji you can’t…” Joel takes my hand and holds it between both of his, I can’t what? “You can’t drink that shit anymore, you got poisoned Benj.” He looks down at the sheets, then his eyes dart back up to look in mine. “And the doctor thinks you’re an alcoholic.”_

_“I’m not!” I gasp, and my throat is dry, sore, and itchy. “I’m not an… I’m not dad.”_

_Joel shakes his head and presses his lips to the back of my hand, sliding down so he’s on his knees, with my hand in-between his. He presses his forehead against my palm and takes a shaky breath. He’s praying for me._

_Someone hands me a paper cup full of water and I take it greedily, not even thanking whoever it was that provided me with it. Instead I bring it to my mouth to gulp the whole thing down. Right away it doesn’t feel like a very good idea, though. I close my eyes and tilt my head back against the pillow, letting out a low groan._

_“I need some…”_

_Joel presses his lips to my hand, and I feel him shake his head again._

…

It started off as relationship arguments. Then it grew into public fights, and the public fights were always the next day’s celebrity gossip. There was always a lot of screaming involved, most of the time me drunk and him crying. We both always swore we wouldn’t be our parents. Guess we were both wrong.

I keep my head down as I walk through the hall of my apartment, trying not to eye the walls that are lined with his pictures. Pictures of the two of us, smiling and happy – pictures of the two of us, forcing grimaces and trying to keep a cool face on for the camera, even though we both knew that behind the scenes, everything was falling apart. Things that we couldn’t fix, either. I was too self destructive, and he was too dependant.

_I really like this picture of you, Benj. Your eyes are beautiful. You’re beautiful, all of you._

Not bothering to turn on my bedroom light, I go straight towards my bed and fall onto it, fully clothed. I cross my hands on my stomach and look up at the ceiling, running thoughts through my head. Things I’ve wondered for the last five years, things I’ve cried about for what seems like forever and a day. We’re both better off on our own, that’s the only thing it’s ever come down to. We fit together so well, it’s like we automatically try and push each other away. Everything is there, but there’s just one little thing that neither of us can seem to figure out that keeps that wedge in-between the perfect relationship and complete vulnerability.

I’m twenty nine. That’s one year away from thirty. That’s one year away from should-already-have-two-kids-and-a-wife. I roll over and stare at the wall, trying to count the cracks even if there are none. I close my eyes and look at the inside of my eyelids instead, attempting to lose myself in the obscurity. It doesn’t work. Instead I blindly reach around in the darkness, for the TV remote. I find it, wedged underneath the pillow, and haphazardly hit the power button. The TV blinks on and a blue light shrouds the room, familiar laughter hitting my ears like a crack to the nose.

“…No, I promise it won’t be like that.”

“So what are we expecting from this then, are you guys vying to compete with a certain someone else’s album which drops the week before?”

I see the host’s grin fade as his face pales and he dips his head down, hiding his eyes from the screen. I feel my throat closing up and someone repeatedly punching me in the stomach as one hand comes up and he pinches the bridge of his nose, other hand coming forward to cover the camera as he whispers his apologies and how he thought he could do it, but he can’t.

The music news segment anchor comes back on, shaking his head a little and pointing his key cards at the screen, and he laughs a minute and says, “You take it for what it’s worth kids, your boyfriend Joel Madden from an as of yet untitled upcoming project. After that interview, I can’t promise you’ll get your new album as soon as you were anticipating. You can see the full un-cut version of that little doozy there this Sunday at-“

I hit the power button again, and complete darkness closes over the room. What is he doing?

_I was so nervous Benj, it was my first interview ever without you. Can you believe it?_

…

“Can you drink that coffee a little quicker, Benji? You’ve got Howard Stern in fifteen minutes.”

I nod slowly and keep my eyes trained on the floor. You can learn a lot about someone from their shoes, I’ve noticed. Business men and women have shiny black ones that don’t look very comfortable at all, behind the scenes people always wear sneakers with too long of laces, and makeup girls wear whatever is the newest style of the week. Lifting the far too expensive cardboard cup to my mouth, I sip at my coffee even though it’s past lukewarm and bordering on room temperature.

“Hey, can we get a mic on Benji?” Someone calls behind me, before I feel someone else’s hand on my shoulder as they push me in the direction of the studio. I’ve only been here once before, and it was years ago. I remember it was one of the last interviews we’d done together, even though at the time they started getting few and far between. It was always Joel and Billy jetting off to Europe, Paul and Joel going to TRL. It had never been Joel and Benji because even if it had worked the last two albums before, things were starting to fall apart, things that would show on a nine hour flight to France.

Ten minutes later I’m wedged between some black woman I’ve met once before, and a blonde with boobs three sizes bigger then her head. Howard is in front of me with his head phones on, frown on his face as he reads over the notes his producer has given him. I turn my head to the left and the blonde is smacking a piece of gum between her teeth, tongue sliding over her lips way more then necessary. When I glance to my right, the black woman is sitting there staring at something over Howard’s head with a little smile on her face. When I follow her gaze with mine, all I see is a glowing red “emergency exit” sign.

“Alright, we’re counting down from five, four, three, two, one…”

…

_“You’re beautiful.” He whispers, a small grin on his face as he runs his fingers through my hair. I smile back, resting my chin on his shoulder as he kisses my forehead. He tugs the blankets up around our shoulders, and it doesn’t even matter that they’re far whiter then ours, and we’re miles away from home in some typical middle classed hotel. I turn my head to the side and rest my cheek against his collar bone, eyes closing as I listen to him breathe. “Baby… Are you asleep?”_

_I shake my head, one of my hands moving down to run along his side. I feel him shiver, feel his bare legs that are tangled up in mine break out in goose bumps. How does this happen, really? How can you be eighteen and have the love of your life curled up in bed with you? I just don’t understand that. And it’s not only that, it’s the fact that we’re in New York – fucking New York! – putting an album together. A real one too, not a cheap version we recorded in Paul’s basement on a bottom of the line tape player._

_“I can’t wait ‘til Christmas. Think we can spend it here, you know, go skating in that big ice rink near Central Park?” I whisper, my lips tracing over his jaw. He smiles and nods, and I can feel one of his hands rubbing over my shoulders. “I love you.”_

_His lips turn into a grin and I lean down, pressing mine against his. The hand that was on my shoulders slide over my neck and into my hair, fingers tangling and massaging my scalp as I gently suck his bottom lip. He moans a little as he pulls away, the smile still on his face, his eyes half closed as he looks up at me._

_“I love you too, Benj…”_

…

I sit on the edge of my bed, chewed notebook balanced carefully in my lap as I poke around in the table drawer for a pen. I can never find a pen. Cash always used to chew them up, but he’s not here anymore so I can’t blame it on him. Not that anyone would believe me anyway, cause those were definitely Benji teeth marks on the lid, and even a dog wouldn’t lose something three minutes after you gave it to them.

“Aha.” I find a run of the mill blue one, and it doesn’t even have a lid but I hope it still works. I shift backwards slightly, thumbing through the pages of my notebook. The first line on the first page says ‘one day’ and the writing is messy and frantic. The second line says ‘two days’ and I can feel my skin crawling as I remember the moments I wrote these words. It goes all the way down to line twenty two, before the twenty third line is scribbled on and I can see ‘I’m sorry’ written in smudgy pencil.

I flip to side two, and I remember I hadn’t written in this book for months in-between the two pages. Not that you could tell by looking at it, but I could never forget that time in my life, it was so bleak and it felt like the tunnel I was running through would never have that light on the other side, for lack of better cheesy saying. There’s a picture of Joel taped to the second page, the page after it says ‘I’m sorry.’ It’s just a polaroid, and I took it when we were on tour one year. He’s got a little smile on his face and he’s leaning up against the side of the bus, our first real bus and not our Mom’s minivan. We were so fucking proud. Compared to the years that followed at least, where we started hating every day more then looking forward to it. From the second album out, every day was hell for us.

I go through the pages until I’m five from the last, and the most recent thing I’ve written in it was yesterday, and it says “one thousand eight hundred and twenty five.” I adjust the grip of then pen in my hand, and write, “one thousand eight hundred and twenty six” on the line beneath it. Five years is a long time for an alcoholic to be sober.

Tomorrow will be one thousand, eight hundred, and twenty seven.

…

Benji’s fat.

_I rest my chin in my palm, scrolling down the page with my mouse. I don’t know why I do this to myself, some bullshit about connecting with the fans or crap like that. Little do they know, we stopped caring a long time ago. We stopped caring when they started giving us chances to get on TRL, when they idolized us with their black eyeliner and Rancid t-shirts. When they took our lives away._

What the fuck is he wearing? It looks like someone’s been shopping at Louis Vuitton again. Man, I liked them before they started being celebrities. I wish they’d wear Made again. Joel’s been looking better to me lately anyway, considering Benji is dating that Japanese bitch. Not to mention he’s gained what, twenty pounds in the last month?

_I wrinkle my nose and shut the internet down, shaking my head a little as I lean over for my bag. When we wore Made, they were telling us to stop being corporate whores and go back to wearing what we “used to.” Whatever we used to wear I’m not sure, all I know is that you can never please anyone. I can’t even please myself. I pull my shirt down over my stomach a little and unzip my bag, fumbling around until I find my best friend. A liquor bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag._

_I sit back a little in my seat and slowly unscrew the top, looking over at the massive hotel bed set up in the middle of the room. There’s a body underneath those blankets somewhere, I should know because I crawled out of it an hour ago. Among bleached white sheets and blankets, there’s a pale figure covered in too many dark tattoos because the label wanted him to “be twins” with me again. Compared to the last two years, when they’ve been trying to separate us. Trying to get the good twin vs. bad twin repertoire so all the little girls will have someone in the band to “relate” to. Not that anyone in this band that isn’t me or Joel is actually popular, or even known for that matter._

_Frowning, I toss the lid onto the desk and tip my head back, taking a long drink from what’s been soothing everything the last few months. I thought I could do it, but it’s like I’m re-living the first eighteen years of my life all over again. What was my father is now the world, and it’s slowly breaking me apart from the inside out and I don’t know how to stop that from happening. So I take the easy man’s way out, and drink myself into an oblivion where I don’t feel anything. And maybe that’s why it’s been Joel and Billy overseas, maybe that’s why I’m never at interviews anymore. Because I’m too fucking trashed, holed up in some hotel room with no hope for life or love or anything, because I’m too God damned broken._

_“Benj?” I watch the blankets moving around, until a black hair of head emerges from underneath a pillow. He props himself up on an elbow and looks around the room confused, palming his face to get the sleep out of his eyes. “Benji, why are you up again?”_

_I shrug and take another sip, feeling the liquid burn through my throat and down into my stomach. He closes his eyes for a second and falls back into the expensive mattress, groaning a little._

_“You said you were done with that shit, Benji.” He whispers, and the only reason I can hear him is because it’s so damned quiet, other then his voice, in the room. I take another drink and shrug again even if he can’t see my actions. “I thought we talked about this…”_

_“We did.” I get up and set the bottle on the desk beside my laptop, and reach for my hoodie. It’s thrown over the back of the chair I was just sitting on, well one is, anyway. I’m not too sure if it’s actually mine or his. “I just don’t care anymore.” I shake my head and shrug the jacket on, picking up the bottle once more when my arm is fully through the sleeve. “Have fun at the interview, I’ll see you at the show. I hope.”_

…

I keep my head down as I walk off the stage, trying to catch my breath. The fans are still screaming so loud my ears are ringing, but I just want to go home. I’ve played my show, the promoters are happy, and now all I want to do is die, if that’s even an option anymore. I already feel dead though, killing myself would just end the mental pain. Which sadly, is the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore.

“Good show Benj.” Someone pats me on the back, and I see a flash of purple hair run by me. The guitarist. Not Billy, just a random musician I could replace with the blink of an eye because I don’t care about him at all. I don’t have the years of friendship, I have the thousands I’m paying him to play the few chords I can’t.

I walk down the corridor towards the dressing room, brushing a hand through my hair as I go. I enter the room and quietly shut the door behind me, eyeing the table full of food against the far wall. I sigh and shake my head, going towards the couch instead. I sit down on the edge of it, pinching my eyes closed as I press my fingers against my temples. The feeling in my stomach is that one you never get over, even when you’re a hundred years old, that pang will still shoot through and you’ll still be unhappy because nothing will have changed.

“Ben?” The door pops open, and my eyes shoot to see my manager with his head in the room. “We’ve got you scheduled for an interview with the local paper in two.”

I nod, and close my eyes again.

…

_“You want to fucking-“ Something smashes above my head against the wall, but I’m too out of it to notice. My eyes droop shut, and I feel my head nodding forward. “Benji would you fucking wake up!” Someone is shaking my shoulders, and when I blink my eyes open, Joel is standing in front of me, furious tears falling from his eyes. “What is your problem!”_

_I try to say something but it comes out as a jumbled block of words, and this just makes him more angry. Instead of saying anything else or trying to make sense out of my thoughts, I drop my head back against the wall and close my eyes, wishing I could just fall asleep. It would all be so much easier if I could just be somehow dead to the world and everybody in it._

_“Benji! Benji would you stop!” He screams, right in my ear, and my eyes shoot wide open in surprise. I drop the bottle from my hand, my fingers going slack and it falls to the ground. I hear it thump against the carpet, and then his fingers are squeezing my shoulders. “This isn’t some stupid game anymore, Benji. You said you were done, but you’re still drinking! And it’s gotten worse, this is more terrible then it was the first time!”_

_I moan again, trying to push him away, but he won’t budge. He’s gotten a lot stronger these last few years, the third album came out and he was a different person. Different clothes, different attitude, different everything. Then the fourth dropped and he changed some more, and now we’re recording our sixth and nothing is the same anymore. He shakes me again and I feel my head violently snap back and forth. My neck feels like rubber._

_“I’m sorry…” I mumble, trying to get his hands away from me, but he won’t resist this time. I crack my eyes open and he’s got tears running down his face, dripping past his cheeks and across his chin. He shakes his head and I feel his fingers dig into my skin and bones. The lights are starting to hurt my eyes and all I want to do is shut them for good._

_His voice is gasping and it sounds like somebody is choking him as he says, “I think it’s over, Benj. I really think it’s over this time.”_

_I shake my head and close my eyes again, and the backs of my eyelids get darker as I pass out against our hotel room wall. I feel the puddle of alcohol seeping into my pant leg as I doze off, curled against the expensive white carpet._

…

They went on, after I got the coveted phone call. It was his lawyer, telling me I needed to come and get my belongings from “his property,” and have my name removed from everything that had anything to do with the band. And I did. I did at least, after I hung up on them the first time and ignored them the next two calls. But somewhere in the next month I had spent passed out in a hotel room in London, they broke away from me, and I never even realized it.

And when the hotel manager finally called for an ambulance after I had been unconscious and unresponsive for three days in his establishment, I knew that was definitely the end. When I turned on MTV and the band was releasing official statements saying I was no longer affiliated with them, due to personal differences – all of this floating around as the reporter made note of the recent arguments we’d had, in anything we’d done at the time, really, hinting at things we’d tried to keep secret for years. Those days put this big red sign over my head that screamed ‘failure’ and I had really turned into my father. I was positive of it.

But, they managed to trek forward. Just erased my name from their history - like all the drummers we’d fired and somehow managed to have drop off the face of the earth - tried to forget about the band member that at one point had been an actual asset to the band. Not the one who at some points, would be drunk and screaming at them, telling them all to fuck off and leave him alone as he penned another teenage angst anthem. Because they sold records, and they gained us more fans. Even if I hated the ones we already had.

They never released the album we had been recording, though. At one point they all faded away, doing side projects or whatever other excuses they threw out. Joel went home to Maryland and stayed with our Mom while I kept my ground in California, going through rehab and psychologist’s help after I finally admitted that I had a problem. Too bad I sacrificed my whole life just to understand the situation I was in, whether I enjoyed it our not, that’s what it was. My entire existence.

I didn’t know how to function without music as part of my life. And once the battle for my sobriety was over, it became more clear then it had been in years. The only thing I regret was the road it took me to get there.

…

_I lean back against the typical plastic hospital pillow, my mouth half open and spoon full of creamed corn half way to it as I watch the TV screen, which is set at the foot of my bed. The nurse wheeled it in here last night, after I complained all day of being bored. That’s what spending a week and a half in a lonely, dreary hospital room will do to you I guess. Not that anybody would come and visit me anyway._

_A commercial for “a new alternative to mp3 players” comes on, and I drop my utensil to the plastic tray in my lap, eyes glancing around the room nervously. I really need something to drink right now. They held me down as I convulsed and threw up for two days, but damnit. I’d do anything right about now, anything would do. I’d even take beer. I need a drink more then I’ve needed one in a long time, I can feel it in my bones and my blood and my brain. I bet they took the spare bottle from my jacket, too. Damnit._

_My attention snaps to the doorway when I see a shadow being cast across the white, freshly scrubbed floor, and I feel my pulse speed up a little. My wrists feel like they’re throbbing, actually._

_“What are you guys doing here?” I whisper, because it’s hard to talk when you’ve got oxygen tubes through your nose and down your throat. I wonder if they can see the IV stuck in the back of my hand, or the emergency call button I’ve got sitting beside me. They both stay in the doorway though, not answering me as their eyes dart around the room. I can only imagine that they’re taking everything in. I push the food tray away and press the power button on the remote. The TV display blinks and then the picture disappears, leaving only a blank, black screen behind._

_They don’t answer my question. All they do is walk in, one standing at the foot of my bed, as the other sits down in the hard, orange plastic chair beside me._

_“Paul? Billy? You guys? What’s up?”_

_Billy shrugs after a moment’s hesitation, turning his attention to the window instead of me, and suddenly all of the tension and awkwardness in the room cracks me over the top of the skull. I cast my gaze to my lap instead, trying not to look at their faces, and I trace my eyes over the patterns on the rough sheets. I really don’t think that they’d appreciate it if I asked them to get me my booze. So instead I stay silent, until an hour has passed, and the same nurse from before comes in to say that visiting hours are over._

_They leave without a fight._

…

One thousand, nine hundred, and fifty one.

I slowly and carefully mark off the last line, on the second to last page in my notebook. Each and every one of these pages are wrinkled, and some are torn, but it’s been around the world with me. It’s just about all that I can expect. Carefully, I turn the final page, and close my eyes for a moment. I don’t know what to do now… I’ve been planning this second for years, but suddenly my mind has gone completely blank. I fiddle with the pencil in my hand, nervously chewing the end of the eraser, before I sober up and lower the lead to the lined paper.

_Joel._

I feel my eyebrows knot, and just as carefully as I wrote it, I erase it. And then I write it again. I erase it again. I slowly, vigilantly mark down each letter. And then I erase each letter as fast as possible, almost tearing the page clear in half. How do you address someone who means as much to me as Joel does? I write down his name once more. And then I sigh, turn the pencil to the eraser side, and destroy the word for the last time.

_Hi._

Sitting back, I debate this word. I don’t rub it out, I just relax myself, and look at it. Hi. That’s okay, right? I sigh and rest my chin on the palm of my hand, tapping the pencil against the paper repeatedly. I make a little tune, and then stop abruptly. I can’t keep putting this off. I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time, thinking about the things I’d write for the last few years of my otherwise bleak life.

_It’s Benji. I’m trying to think what I could say in this notebook that could sum up all of these years, but I can’t. So I won’t try and attempt it. This book is worth five years and eight months of my life, though, and every single line of every single page has impacted me somehow. It’s either hurt me, or affected me, or made me stronger in some way. And I wanted to share it with you._

_How are you? I haven’t heard anything about you in a long time. I listened to your voice on the TV the other day though, I see you’re releasing a new album. How is that coming? I’m glad to see you’re making music again. It took me a long time, too. I’m still trying to brave through it though, keep my head down because everything so much more scary when you’re not there, every single task seems daunting._

I sit back and my eyes are starting to prick at the backs, but I won’t let myself cry this time. Because… Because I don’t know why, but I won’t. I won’t let the stress and the pressure and not enough sleep get to me right now, because it never has before. Why would it start effecting me now? When everything is perfect? When I put out a new album, a solo album, and it shot straight to number one? When all the little faggot punks have finally started calling me one of their own, saying I was the only real musician in the band to begin with? I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, letting out what sounds in the middle of a gasp and groan. I need to keep writing.

_Um, okay. So. So, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. And I’ve been trying to get the balls to write those few words, the last two paragraphs. I don’t know if it’s good or bad that it’s taken this long for me to say it. Write it. You know what I mean. You’ve always known what I’ve meant to say, you’re better at expressing your feelings then I am._

_All of those times that you told me I was blind, that I was killing the both of us at the same time, you were right you know. With every single word you told me. I’m sorry I made you cry so many times, too. You need to understand that I was dying to breathe, though. That I wasn’t understanding how much I was hurting you with every sip that I took. And the last time I swore to you that I was done, I wasn’t. And I knew it, but I still lied to you. To your face. I’m sorry for that, too. I’ve been clean for the last five years though, five years and eight months, actually. I counted every single day. I’ll send you fifteen more notebooks full of days that I’ve been sober if it means anything to you. I wouldn’t blink twice._

_I’ve been okay lately, I guess. I’m not the same person, I don’t think. I’m not sure. I mean if I’m going to be honest, I really don’t think that I am. Before this all happened, I was… I don’t know. I was just Benj. But now I don’t know who I am, cause I don’t have you. I don’t have you, Joel, and it makes everything that much harder. That’s selfish of me, isn’t it? But I know how you felt all of those months where I was with you but you still didn’t have me, and I’m sorry it took me being self-centered to realize that. When you’re not here, it’s like I don’t have the same thoughts. I don’t function the same way, I don’t have anything to say when you’re not around. But it’s the truth, and you deserve it because I lied right to your face all of those years. And I can never tell you exactly how sorry I am for each and every one of them._

_I opened my closet up the other day and all of these memories of you fell out. They buried me in all of these moments I remember, and it hurts because I want to erase you. But I can’t, because what’s my life without you in it? I don’t have one. If I removed you from my memory bank, it’d be like I’d be throwing myself away too, because the only part of my life that hasn’t had you in it, were only the last few years. And I don’t consider that to be myself._

_Please don’t try and contact me. Because this isn’t it, this isn’t the end of everything. This isn’t the happily ever after where I’m magically alright because I wrote some stupid letter that means everything, but nothing at the same time. Cause I’m not. I’m still broken inside and nobody can fix it but me, even if I wish it were you that could mend it. I know that if you came back I’d just hurt you all over again and I never want you to be in pain for another second of the rest of your entire life. And if that means not having me in it, then so be it. I’d hurt forever if it meant you’d be okay. I can’t write this fast enough because I feel my body breaking down from the inside out. I can see the future already, Joel. This isn’t going to work out. Nothing is, because as soon as I finish writing this letter to you, my insides will fracture, and I’ll start a new notebook in a few years, once I’ve destroyed everything again, and it’ll all be a vicious cycle that you’d get caught in. And I don’t think you’d make it out for a second time._

_I’m running out of space. I only have a page and a half to write this on._

_Here are all of the things that I never told you, and I’m so sorry that I never did: You were my angel. I wish I could still hold onto your heart, and keep it safe at the same time. You still grip at mine. You’re the only thing in the entire world that I’ve ever wanted more then anything else. I wish you wouldn’t feel so guilty. I wish you weren’t so beautiful. My heart hurts whenever I see you. I loved you always. I’m finding it’s only you that can break me, or save me. I need you. I love you. I miss you. I’ll… I’ll never get over you._

I wipe my cheeks off slowly, not re-reading anything to make sure every word is perfect, or that the spelling is correct. Because I don’t want to. That’s what my heart feels like, and I want him to get every single word of it for the first time. I set the frayed notebook down on the mattress beside me and reach over to the nightstand, where there’s a bottle and it’s paper bag sitting there, waiting for me. Waiting. My fingers close around the neck and I slowly stand up, my knees feeling weak because I always get fragile inside and out when I cry. I head towards the bathroom, hand blindly reaching around to flip the light on. Halogen sunshine floods the room and I squint my eyes, looking at myself in the mirror.

“Here’s to history repeating itself.” I whisper, eyes watery as I look at myself in the mirror, and I only hesitate for a second before I lift the bottle to my lips. 

And as I let the liquid slide down my throat, I can feel that everything is burning, it’s finally all alive again. My whole body is throbbing already. I close my eyes, tears sliding down my cheeks as they’re squeezed from the corners of my eyes, and I have to shake my head a little to get rid of the flame spewing up my throat.

I open my eyes again and focus in on the mirror. Maybe next time I’ll get a notebook with double the pages. I shake my head and a smile spreads across my face, as I look over the Jack Daniel’s bottle, clutched in my hand. 

My eyes slide back to my reflection, taking in my healthy face that doesn’t have it’s cheek bones sunk in, and my eyes are only blood shot from crying, and not the booze. I hate the guy who’s staring back at me.

"And here’s to another five years.”


End file.
